


Cost Against Value

by StuffnStuff



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Al Sarmen sucks, Character Study, Gen, Jafar and Judar hate each other, Jafar is rude too, Judar is rude, Kouen has his moments of rudeness as well, Language, M/M, Memory Loss, Past Child Abuse, Referenced Underage Sex, Sinbad no Bouken spoilers kinda, Violence, implicit sex, lots of swearing, love triangle kinda?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuffnStuff/pseuds/StuffnStuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a simple principle of economics - the cost of something is determined by the value of it. A buyer will never pay for something they don't want, and similarly will spend more on something they value deeply.</p>
<p>Ja'far wakes up in a Kou dungeon, alone. Stripped of his weapons and political weight, he's left with few options and fewer pleasant ones. Between the looming presence of Al Sarmen in Kou and the ruthless temperament of the imperial family, Ja'far isn't just stuck between a rock and a hard place. He's between a blade and a sharp place.</p>
<p>Kouen finds a snake in the dungeon. It hisses and spits viciously, but its fangs are capped. Scaled in white, it's beautiful and venomous and alone. He finds himself quite taken with a serpent that isn't his. But an untested memory spell and an Organization that wants their best trained assassin back might well change that.</p>
<p>But how much is he willing to pay to own Sinbad's viper?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cost Against Value

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Moonlight Paradox](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063571) by [theglaringdream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglaringdream/pseuds/theglaringdream). 



> Okay, first things first, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy! The entirety of my spring break went to writing this as opposed to doing homework, so it's actually pretty good. I only have three notes of import before we begin.
> 
> 1) As I listed in the tags, this DOES contain some spoilers for Sinbad no Bouken. If you've read past chapter 27, you're good. If you haven't, be ADVISED that this oneshot will make MUCH more sense if you've read that chapter in particular. The plot of this operates on information gained in that chapter (or analyzed out of Ja'far's character in Magi: Labyrinth of Magic/Kingdom of Magic). This story is partially my own character analysis of Ja'far's character as it was extrapolated on in that chapter of SnB. Therefore it is partially fan speculation, however there is canonical evidence to support my analysis so I'm not just pulling this out of the air. If you have questions or contradictions about/against my opinion, feel free to leave them in a comment and I'll do my best to answer you!
> 
> 2) Having said that it operates off of the canon of SnB, I also mention some things that are VERY different from SnB. I alter Ja'far's backstory somewhat, as well as add a lot more scars where he doesn't have them in the manga. I also observed that the Organization rarely gives formal names to characters, so I gave him an Organization title (think of the Banker, etc.). If there's anything that you would like clarification on, drop me a comment and I'll be happy to alter small parts of the story to clarify.
> 
> 3) The opening scenario for this story actually was inspired by another fic. Moonlight Paradox by theglaringdream (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1063571/chapters/2132999) was what initially inspired this head canon-turned-oneshot, though I chose to take the plot in a much different direction. If you're interested in seeing someone else's take, please check out that story! The plot and characterizations are very engaging, and it's long and still updating fairly regularly!
> 
> Well, that about covers it. Without further ado, please enjoy!

By the time Kouen finds out about it, it's already been going on for five days.

 

He finds out by accident, after colliding with a (absolutely terrified at the time) courier who had been carrying messages for his stepmother. He is instantaneously more pissed than he's been in a long time about being kept in the dark about this. The courier looked like he thought Kouen was going to feed him his own skin, so he knows his wrath must have shown on his face.

 

He confronts Koumei first, to see if he was in on it too. Based on the bewilderment, he wasn't. And that's almost more of a shock than Kouen not knowing it - Koumei has made it his business to know everything inside and outside the imperial palace for years. Kouha, who had always had a nigh sixth sense for when shit was going down, found them in the hallway and asked what was making Kouen look like he wanted to break some femurs. Kouen gives him the news, and Kouha blanches like he'd been punched in the gut. Hesitantly, he asks if it's actually true, and that's when Kouen decides it's high time to discover the extent of the situation for himself.

 

The three of them make their way down to the dungeons, and when dead quiet meets their entry, for a moment it seems like it was all some kind of elaborate ruse.

 

"I heard you come in," a voice snarls a moment later, and Kouen feels his gut clench in some combination of shock and victory. "I already told you, I will speak to no one short of a member of the imperial family, and I will speak with them _now_." Kouen stalks down the hallway, fighting down a catlike grin. Koumei, contrarily, looks a little pale. When they come within view and can visually confirm who, exactly, is currently in their dungeon, Koumei looks like every tactical and diplomatic nightmare he's ever had are all coming true at once.

 

Ja'far is glaring like a viper. His normal green and white robe is missing, replaced by a loose white shirt and plain pants. The shirt is short sleeved, and for the first time Kouen sees the deep, thin scars years of coiling sharp cord around his arms have wrought. For all that he's a whole head shorter than Kouen, the sheer bloodlust and wrath in his face makes the competitive warrior in Kouen ache for a duel.

 

"It is about _time_ ," Ja'far spits, his enraged eyes shifting between the princes. "I shouldn't have to remind you that _you yourselves_ granted me diplomatic immunity as a part of the current non-aggression contract between Sindria and the Kou Empire! This is a _grievous_ breach of terms, and any continued mistreatment of a _recognized Sindrian official_ will be counted as no less than an unveiled act of aggression, and the Sindrian military will respond accordingly! I _demand_ to be released, and for passage back to my country to be _guaranteed."_ He doesn't roar, but his venomous, spitting hiss is as threatening as a cobra. Kouen wouldn't be surprised if he were actually poisonous.

 

Kouen considers his possible responses. A glance to the right shows Koumei simply staring at him. Regardless of the weight his next decision has, Koumei is trusting him entirely with it. There's something desperate his expression, but he still is showing his support for whatever Kouen decides to do. Kouen weighs his options. He doesn't have long to consider this or else Ja'far will figure out something is going on, that Kouen didn't know he was here and doesn't have the full political weight he should. This is the most dangerous game Kouen has ever played, and he's never been so thrilled in all his life.

 

 "...No," he says plainly. He allows some of his victorious smile to surface on his face. He's pretty sure he _hears_ Ja'far's blood boil, as well as Koumei's mental plea for strength in the face of impulsiveness.

 

 "If you do not return me to Sindria at the earliest _possible_ time, Sinbad will consider it a _declaration of war_." Ja'far's fists are clenched so tightly Kouen thinks he may just find a way to break his own fingers with the force. Kouen grins wolfishly.

 

 "Only if he finds out where you are."

 

Ja'far pauses at that, mouth frozen open in search of a retort. Nothing seems instantly forthcoming, and Kouen relishes the flicker of doubt in his steely green eyes.

 

"...He knows where I am." Ja'far is trying to sound more confident than he is, Kouen could hear it in that hesitation.

 

"Oh really? Then why have you been here for five days without any correspondence or negotiators from Sindria? What exactly could be taking Sinbad so long to rescue his favorite pet?" Ja'far bristles at the title.

 

"Give me something sharp and I'll show you just how fucking tame I am," he snarls, glare somehow darkening further. Ja'far's fierce, unyielding spirit in the face of an impossible situation gives Kouen a kind of glee.

 

"...Koumei, Kouha, come with me. We're going to have a talk with our esteemed mother about who exactly knows about the little cobra we've caught. I trust I don't have to tell you to keep this a secret."

 

"You fucking coward. If it's a fucking war you want send Sinbad my head on a plate, that'll get the message through. None of this half-assed sneaky bullshit! I know it's hard to do anything when your dick is the size of a fucking _squirrel's_ , but I didn't think your bitch stepmother had cut off _ALL_ your balls. What kind of warrior _are_ you? Some real tough conqueror you are." Kouen chooses to ignore him, turning and walking down the hallway. Ja'far's insults get progressively more creative the further he goes, and his brothers bear the brunt of some harsh words as well. Kouen is planning to try to get information out of him later anyway, the slights against his and his family's honor can be properly punished then.

 

The first step of getting someone like Ja'far to submit is showing him how powerless he is.

 

* * *

 

The next time Kouen comes to visit, he comes with only one other person. If Ja'far had been in a poor mood before, seeing his visitors makes him the incarnation of wrath.

 

"Oh look. It's the Kou _whore_ ," he snarls, too pissed to weigh his words at all.

 

Judar only laughs, then flicks his wand to send Ja'far crashing into the wall of his cell hard enough to taste blood.

 

"That's hardly fair. I can practically _smell_ Sinbad on you." Ja'far rises from where he was thrown if only to prove that he can, as there's really nowhere for him to go.

 

"Tell me, Judar, what can I possibly have done to warrant separating you from your favorite pastime of sucking cock? Or are you two here on some weird exhibitionist kink?"

 

"I'm here to take Baal away from you." Judar says simply. Ja'far freezes, his eyes widening.

 

"... _What?!"_ Judar shrugs nonchalantly, sitting back in the air to save himself the trouble of standing.

 

"We don't want to risk you transferring your household vessel to another object since you're such a sneaky ass. Good thing it takes longer with household vessels than it does with Djinn metal vessels. Now hold still. This should only be agonizing." Judar grins, raising his wand again. He shifts his attention to Kouen. "You ready? Sinbad isn't going to give him up easy, and Baal is no pushover Djinn either. Nobody's ever tried to do this before, so he could die. If he does blow up, I'll make sure you don't get caught in the magoi rebound."

 

"Thank you for your consideration, Judar," Kouen says impassively. Judar grins wider.

 

"I've always wanted the chance to knock him down a few pegs."

 

Ja'far isn't exactly sure when he collapses to the floor. Or when he starts screaming. All he knows is it feels like his soul is being ripped out through his eyes and liquid fire is tearing its way through all of his nerves. It feels like his consciousness is being separated from his body, and if his body was suffering his mind is in hell.

 

But he can feel Sinbad.

 

He knows theoretically that by being Sinbad's household member, his magoi is linked to Sinbad's on the most fundamental of levels. But he's never been able to _feel_ it before.

 

With the way his mind has been somehow separated from his body, he's acutely aware of Sinbad's feelings and thoughts. Shock almost instantly morphs to elation and then horror in Sinbad's mind. Ja'far knows that whatever fleeting joy he'd felt at sensing Ja'far's consciousness is quickly overridden by his horror at the agony Ja'far is in and the way his magoi is being forcibly ripped away from Sinbad's.

 

He can feel the force of Kouen's will and magoi pulling him away, and Sinbad almost instantly latches onto Ja'far's mind. Ja'far fights back against Kouen and clings to Sinbad equally vehemently, hardly aware of how his body is convulsing and spasming on the floor. Both Kouen and Sinbad are a good deal stronger than him, and Ja'far is sure this is what it must feel like to be ripped in half. It feels like he's being agonizingly stretched between the two, unnaturally and impossibly taut across the gap between them, but he continues to cling to Sinbad, his leader, his king...

 

Sinbad's mind whirls through several emotions. Someone's said something to him. Sinbad goes from angry and combative to desperate, horrified, and _scared_. Ja'far hears the words Sinbad had been told echoing in the fringes of his mind that are still tangled with Sinbad's.

 

_You have release him! He's dying!_

 

Yamraiha may mean well, but he's going to kill her when he gets home. He feels Sinbad's hesitation and indecisiveness, his horror and sorrow and helpless rage.

 

And somehow all his previous agony is nothing compared to the moment when Sinbad lets him go.

 

Ja'far tries to keep clinging to him, and he feels guilt enough to kill seeping from Sinbad's mind when he starts actively prying Ja'far off. Ja'far only dimly realizes he's sobbing but what he looks like to Kouen and Judar is the last thing he could ever care about when Sinbad is willingly and forcibly separating himself from Ja'far.

 

Ja'far knows he won't win. Not against both of them. And he's so weak now, so very, very weak...

 

Being ripped away from Sinbad feels like dying.

 

As soon as the link between the two of them is severed, his consciousness is slammed back into his body hard enough to leave him gasping. As abruptly as it started, all of his pain is gone, and the lack of it is somehow confusing and jarring to Ja'far. He's lying on his back, wheezing wretchedly, tears streaming down the sides of his face into his hair unheeded. He feels empty. He feels hollow. He feels broken.

 

Most of all, he feels alone.

 

He's exhausted in every sense of the word, and his mind is in a haze. His breaths shudder against sobs in his lungs, and he just can't stop crying.

 

"Sin...Sin..." he whimpers wretchedly, as lost and disoriented as a child. He isn't even sure where he is anymore or what's going on, and it doesn't matter. All he wants, all he _needs_ is for Sinbad to just make everything okay...

 

But he doesn't. Can't, anymore.

 

"Yeah, he may be a little fucked up for a while. Messing with someone's Rukh like that generally screws with their head. Don't worry, he'll stop being a whiny whore in a few days. Probably." Judar is smiling like all his birthdays have come at once, watching Ja'far weep, disoriented and aching, on the floor. "Gotta admit, it's kinda fun seeing him all lost and stuff. Adorable." He steps forward, crouching directly before the bars and, subsequently, Ja'far.

 

"Hey. Ugly. Guess what? He dropped your ass here. He doesn't care about you, he willingly handed you over to Kouen! You've been a pain in his ass since the beginning! He's been waiting for an opportunity like this to leave you behind." Ja'far stares at him with wide, unfocused eyes. Judar knows how dangerous separating his Rukh from his body like that was, and he knows it's left his psyche vulnerable and confused. And it's always been his favorite game to kick at fresh wounds.

 

"No... No..." Ja'far whimpers, curling in on himself. He starts crying harder. "Sin..."

 

"Didn't you hear me? He left your ugly ass here! He _let_ us take your household vessel away! He has _never_ cared about you. Never! All of these years you've been nothing more than a convenient whore! He only kept you around so you could do his work and be an obedient fuck when he wanted!" Ja'far has his hands pressed desperately against his ears, and is curled into as tight a ball as he can manage. He doesn't say anything else, only whimpers to himself, shaking.

 

"Tch. You're pathetic." Judar rises, and without a backwards glance turns from the cell and leaves.

 

Kouen hasn't moved. He's watching Ja'far shake and sob on the ground. And despite the display of weakness, Kouen feels nothing but admiration and jealousy.

 

That is devotion.

 

Clinging to his master in the face of unbearable agony, mourning the loss of connection with his king to this extent... Kouen doesn't think many - if any - of his own household members would openly weep over the loss of an unfelt connection with him. And so he admires Ja'far's loyalty.

 

And is simultaneously unbearably jealous of Sinbad, for being its target.

 

Something vicious is brewing in the depths of his mind. He's a ruthless man by nature, but even he is surprised at his own ferocity. But if it's possible...well.

 

He'd always had a fondness for stealing other peoples' toys.

 

He turns to leave wordlessly, still pondering the possibility of this latest scheme. Ja'far hears his retreating footsteps, and what little clarity he's beginning to regain puts the next words in his mouth and gasps them out at Kouen between sobs.

 

"I'll never forgive you for this. Never. _Never._ I will _destroy_ you for this. Everything you've built, everything you love, I will destroy it ALL!" He sounds sincere and utterly wretched and Kouen can't help but smile.

 

"You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep."

 

* * *

 

The next weeks pass in near isolation for Ja'far. The few visits he gets are brief and terrifying, and he wishes he'd known how deeply Al Sarmen was seated in Kou because he would rather have died than be forced to face some of these people again. Some sneer insults at him, but the most terrifying comment comes from one of his most acute childhood tormentors.

 

"It’s good to have you back where you belong."

 

That one sentence is like swallowing a bucket of ice all at once, and Ja'far shrinks even further back from the man in abject horror.

 

“…Back?” he breathes shakily. The man only chuckles, says he’ll understand in a few days, and leaves.

 

Judar returns a few days later, accompanied by some of the magicians of the Organization. Kouen is back as well, with a wicked, curious gleam in his eyes. He says nothing to Ja’far, and Ja’far assumes he’s really only there to observe.

 

Judar and the others don’t address him directly, but it isn’t long before they have his hands and feet bound in magic and levitate him out of the cell. It’s the first time he’s left that room in weeks, but leaving is no comfort. With these people he has no doubt nothing better awaits him outside that cage.

 

He’s carried upstairs into the Imperial Palace proper, and then into one of the smaller private rooms reserved for higher ranked servants. The change in locale doesn’t make sense to him, and nobody is exactly forthcoming with an explanation.

 

They position him on his back on one of the floor futons people here sleep on. It all feels very…off. He looks around the room for more clues on what exactly they’re up to.

 

The room looks to be in use. The low furniture typical of Kou traditional rooms is scattered conservatively around the space. A simple wooden table sits by one wall, the surface sprinkled liberally with papers and scrolls. An inkpot and pen rests beside the scroll currently open on the desk, but from his vantage point Ja’far can’t read it. Tucked back into another corner is a kind of shelf he recognizes. Yamraiha uses one to safely store hundreds of magical ingredients separately, each in their own drawer, which are organized to her preference.

 

But he knows it more intimately from his time as an assassin. He’d used such a chest to separate ingredients for poisons.

 

He knows it can also be used for medicinal or magical ingredients, but based on the size of the drawers, only a small amount of each is truly necessary. It looks more like a poisoner’s chest than a healer’s.

 

Aside from these two objects and the futon and its associated blanket and pillow, the room is bare in the minimalistic style of Kou architecture. Bound to the futon, Ja’far looks around again, the same feeling of unease twisting in his stomach. The room has more of the feeling of a set for a play, everything arranged _just so_ , and Ja’far just doesn’t understand it. Why would they bring him to a used room? It doesn’t make sense. Whose room is this, anyway? What are they going to do to him, and why is a room like this a better, a _necessary_ setting for it?

 

Kouen is watching his confusion. He supposes it can’t hurt to give Ja’far a hint, if only to see how he’ll react. Watching the little cobra spit and hiss is somehow addictive.

 

“The Kou Empire and the Organization can use an elite assassin much more readily than an administrative paper-pusher.” As expected, Ja’far’s eyes snap to him when he speaks. Ja’far searches his face, seeking further information. Something between confusion and disbelief twists his face into a sardonic half-smile.

 

“No matter how you torture me or torment me, you’ll never be able to convince me to rejoin Al Sarmen,” he says. Kouen smiles back and doesn’t speak.

 

Judar and the magicians are discussing something in hushed tones, but before Ja’far gets the chance to put all the pieces together they’ve finished their conversation and are forming a small ring around him. Judar is near his head, grinning.

 

“Ready to be our human lab rat? No one’s ever tried something like this before, so sorry if your head explodes or something.” The magician across from Judar glares at him, and he falls silent after that. Ja’far’s head is spinning. He has to figure this out, so that maybe he’ll have a better chance of stopping it.

 

This room, carefully orchestrated to look lived-in. The necessity of five Al Sarmen magicians _and_ Judar. The lack of physical bindings. A spell no one’s tried before. The man’s comment a few days ago, which coincides perfectly with Kouen’s…

 

And then everything goes black.

 

Judar hunches in on himself like he’s in pain, tightly grasping the hands of the magicians on either side of him in the circle. He’s grimacing deeply, his jaw clenched hard enough to hurt his teeth.

 

“Hold still you slippery little shit!” he hisses.

 

“You have to find his center of memory,” one magician says. The places where her hands link with the others next to her glow black.

 

“Maybe if the five of you could do your fucking jobs and keep his consciousness sedated it’d be easier!” Judar snarls. He grunts. _“Fucking-_ Okay. Okay. I think I’m in.”

 

“You _think_ or you _are?”_ the magician directly to Judar’s left asks. Judar straightens suddenly, his pupils dilating immensely.

 

“Oh. Oh, I definitely am.” His eyes twitch, like he’s watching rapid movement. “…Wow, that’s pretty fucked up. I didn’t know you guys caught him that early…” His eyebrows shoot up. “Solomon’s _teeth_ you made him _kill his own parents first?”_

 

“Judar, _focus!”_ one of the magicians snaps. Judar blinks, than shakes his head as if trying to clear it.

 

“Right, right. Sorry.” His eyes close and his eyebrows furrow in concentration. “Start sending me the memories and I’ll put them in place.”

 

“You have to overwrite the old memories entirely. Make sure they’re _deleted._ Start from when we caught up with Sinbad’s ship, when the Viper was eleven.”

 

“Got it.” Judar frowns in concentration. “Hang on, I have to find the exact moment…” With an almost rhetorical nod, his grip on his neighbors’ hands relaxes a little. “Okay. Got it. And…poof. Gone. Clever escape never even happened. Start feeding me the memories you want to use instead.” Nobody verbally replies, and the room falls silent again.

 

Kouen is watching the proceedings, fascinated. Initially, he’d been wondering if this process would be as agonizing for Ja’far as removing his connection to Baal had been. He didn’t particularly care either way, but watching the proceedings of this spell certainly requires a more focused eye than the previous in order to see the reaction.

 

By the strength of the light emanating from their linked hands, this spell must be nothing short of monstrous. Both in volume of magoi consumed _and_ complexity. It’s casting the room in a purple-black glow (Kouen hardly knew that black _was_ a color of light until meeting Judar for the first time) that leaves the off-white rice screen doors flickering with shadows. Ja’far himself appears like a ghost or a corpse, ethereal and eerie.

 

“How far along are you?” one of the magicians asks. Judar twitches at his concentration being interrupted.

 

“Just wrapping up his twentieth year…21…22…23…24…” _It’s a fast spell,_ Kouen thinks, surprised. _…Though I suppose with six people working on it all at once it’s undoubtedly going faster._ Judar frowns. “…Something feels off.” One of the magicians looks up at him sharply.

 

“What is it, what’s wrong?” Judar’s frown deepens, like he’s concentrating harder.

 

“I thought I told you to hold him still!” he snarls.

 

“He _is_ still!” one of the magicians snaps back. Judar gasps and hunches in on himself again.

 

“This is just his mind, right?” he asks, almost breathless. “There’s no overlap or anything?”

 

“Yes! You helped us engineer the spell that way yourself!” Judar scowls.

 

_“Then who the fuck is down here with me?”_ he hisses.

 

“…Are all the old memories deleted?” one of the magicians asks.

 

“Yes…”

 

“And the new ones are in place?”

 

“Yes, but…!”

 

“Then that just has to be good enough! We’re too far in to turn back now, Judar!” another one snaps. “Just put in the last two years while he’s unconscious! We don’t have the magoi to keep this going for much longer! If it’s wrong, we’ll try again in a few days!” Judar scowls and doesn’t reply. Kouen knows how much he hates being told what to do, so for him to comply that easily the spell must be weighing on him as well. The last few moments of the spell pass in tense silence, but based on the victorious gleam that comes into the eyes of the one magician Kouen can see, it finished successfully.

 

With a gasp, Judar collapses back, releasing the magicians. He sprawls on his back, panting, a hand pressed to his forehead like he has a fierce headache. All at once, the black light of the room vanishes, leaving it in the usual hues of morning. “Did it work?” Kouen asks. One of the magicians raises a hand to silence him, gaze fixed solely on Ja’far. Kouen would snarl at such dismissive treatment, but Ja’far is stirring…

 

He groans, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the light. Once they adjust a bit more, he fixes a sharp, silent gaze on the magician closest to him.

 

“What happened.” The way he says it is too hard to be a question.

 

“You took a hard hit to the head on your last mission. We were giving you an examination when you woke. Tell me, what’s your name?” Ja’far’s gaze – near _glare_ – doesn’t lighten, and he lifts one eyebrow sardonically.

 

“You should know since you yourselves were the ones that never fucking gave me one.” The magician smiles poisonously.

 

“And you never needed one.” She extends a hand towards him, her smile viciously sincere.

 

“Welcome back, Viper.”

* * *

 

For all that he’d wanted it to, some part of Kouen hadn’t expected it to actually _work._ But now, a week later, Ja’far – no, the _Viper_ , they’d insisted he refer to him by that title – was standing in Kouen’s office doorway.

 

“I’m sorry, what?” Kouen asks, too surprised by what Ja’f- damn it, the _Viper_ had said to really process it.

 

“I _said_ I’ve been assigned to watch you and your siblings. I’m not being sent out on assignment again until my superiors are certain I don’t have brain damage or some shit.” Kouen realizes only years of serving as Sindria’s advisor had made the Viper into the soft-spoken and polite man he knew. Without those memories, he was coarse and blunt, not seeming to care one way or the other whether his words offended anyone. “So either give me something to fucking do or I’m going to leave to check on your brothers.”

 

“Kouha is off the palace grounds right now, and Koumei is going hypertensive again about an upcoming trade negotiation with Riem so he won’t want you hovering. Kougy-“ Out of nowhere, a knife goes whistling past his head to embed itself in the wooden wall behind him. Kouen freezes for a moment before connecting the Viper’s extended hand with the throwing knife in the wall. _“What the hell?!”_ he snarls. The Viper smiles at him coldly, walking around the desk and over to the knife (and subsequently closer to Kouen).

 

“There was a spider. Could have been poisonous,” he sneers, yanking the knife out of the wall.

 

“You’d put a hole in the wall over a spider?!”

 

“I can put a hole in your fucking neck if you prefer.” The Viper slides the blade back into the sheath on the underside of his arm. Kouen narrows his eyes. He will not be taken lightly by anyone, least of all someone who is supposed to be serving him.

 

In one fluid motion, he stands. He grabs one of the Viper’s wrists, twisting it behind his back almost far enough to dislocate his shoulder, his other hand grabbing his hair near the nape of his neck. He slams the Viper’s face down onto the table, forcing him to bend awkwardly at the waist.

 

“Listen to me, _brat._ You _will_ respect me, and I will accept _nothing less_ than polite behavior and proper consideration. Your superiors in the Organization ordered you to serve me, and until such a time that they order you away, _I_ am your sole master. Disobedience and disrespect will _not_ be treated leniently here. _Am I understood?”_ Kouen never raises his voice above a business like tone, as if this is completely normal. Ja’far glares up at him and doesn’t respond. Kouen twists his arm further, and presses his face harder into the wood. “I _said_ am I understood?”

 

“Perfectly,” the Viper growls back. Kouen releases him instantly, turning away and sitting back down like nothing happened. The Viper straightens, glowering. He turns to stalk out of the room, but stops in the doorway.

 

“Catch,” he says, and Kouen barely has a moment to react before a glass vial is sailing through the air at him. Only his fast reflexes allow him to catch it before it collides with his face.

 

“What’s this?” he asks suspiciously, eyes shifting from the transparent liquid to the Viper. The Viper smiles.

 

“The antidote. For the poison needle I stuck in your arm when you attacked me.”

 

Kouen tries not to visibly show surprise and quickly flicks his eyes down to his arms. There’s blood trailing down his left pointer finger in a thin line from an injury somewhere higher up on his arm. He tries not to smile, but feels the same vicious glee he’d felt when Ja’far was in the cell. He always loved having a strong opponent.

 

The Viper has turned away again by the time he looks up, but seems to hesitate another moment before leaving.

 

“…My respect doesn’t come easy. But not being a fucking pushover is a good start.”

 

And with that, he marches out of the room.

* * *

 

“En, _wake up!”_ Koumei’s voice and vicious shaking pull Kouen out of deep slumber. He snaps to wakefulness almost instantly, expecting there to be some kind of threat. It’s dark out, only a bit past midnight if Kouen had to guess, and the only light in the room comes from his open door, where Koumei must have entered.

 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Kouen asks authoritatively, already rising. He’s reaching for his metal vessels, but Koumei cuts him off, grabbing his wrist and pulling him from the room before he can get them.

 

“You won’t be needing those. It’s the Viper. He’s having some kind of breakdown. We can’t get him to calm down.” Kouen scowls.

 

“Did his memories come back?” Koumei shakes his head, turning down another corridor.

 

“No. On the contrary, it seems like this was caused by whatever they put _into_ his head.”

 

Koumei pulls them down another corridor, them stops outside a door. It’s deadly quiet within, and there are no lights on. Koumei slides the door aside slowly, taking a careful step inside like he’s treading on glass.

 

“Kouha heard yelling about half an hour ago. He’s been trying to calm him down but we just can’t get through to him. We aren’t sure what triggered this, but he’s very volatile right now,” Koumei whispers.

 

The room is only illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the open door, and it takes Kouen’s eyes a moment to adjust. After what Koumei had said, Kouen was expecting the Viper to have thrown a fit of some kind and for the room to be in shambles. Contrarily, the room is in pristine condition. The futon and blanket are both laid out for sleeping, but undisturbed like no one had actually slept there that night. The scrolls on the desk are in perfect order, and there’s no damage to the walls or floor. Kouha is crouched on the other side of the desk, looking over his shoulder at Kouen.

 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Sorry to wake you up, but I’m kinda running out of ideas here.” There’s a soft sound behind him, and Kouha’s attention snaps back to what he’d been facing before. “Woah woah woah woah!” he almost shouts, lunging forward and grabbing something. He seems to be grappling fiercely with someone. “What’re you trying to do, _kill yourself?!”_ With a last vicious tug, Kouha pries something away and flings it across the room. It skitters to a stop on the floor and catches Kouen’s eye.

 

It’s a knife. Not unlike the one he’d thrown at Kouen’s head. Fresh blood glistens faintly on the handle.

 

Kouen approaches Kouha, knowing now that the Viper must be just behind him. As he draws nearer, the Viper comes into view. He’s crouched with his back against the wall. His eyes are wild and wide, and his hair is mussed out of place like he’d viciously dragged his hands through it. He has one hand pressed over his nose and mouth like he’s trying to shield them from view, his other hand moving against the back of his neck.

 

He’s clawing viciously at his own skin there. Kouen can see the blood starkly against his white shirt and pale skin. Kouha reaches forward like he means to pull the Viper’s hand away from its brutal task, but the Viper snarls at him in a way that is more animal than human and he flinches back. Kouha winces as the Viper drags blunt nails over the already bleeding flesh of the back of his neck again.

 

“He’s been doing this since I found him. I can’t get him to stop, and I don’t know why he started in the first place.” Kouen studies the Viper’s tense posture, his staring eyes, the clawlike grip he has on his own face, and the vicious, rhythmic raking of nails over the back of his neck. This isn’t a situation any of them are prepared or know how to deal with.

 

“…I’m going to get one of the magicians from Al Sarm-“

 

_“Don’t!”_ the Viper shrieks, launching himself at Kouen’s turning back. On someone more comparable in size, his lunge would have been a tackle. As it is, his arms wrap around Kouen’s waist and cling to his chest like talons. His face is pressed into Kouen’s back, and it makes his next words more jumbled and Kouen fights to understand him. “Oh Solomon please don’t please don’t please please don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t no more scars no more pain please please please please please-“ The words come out in a breathless rush, thick with terror.

 

Seeming to realize something, the Viper gasps and releases Kouen, collapsing back. Both hands are now locked over his face, and he scuttles backwards until he collides with the wall. He draws his knees up to his chest, pulling them as tightly against his torso as he can. He’s looking around the room wildly, like he’s seeing it for the first time.

 

He drops his face, pressing his forehead against his knees. He begins mumbling rapidly to himself, and Kouen can see his shoulders shaking.

 

“Cover your face, cover your skin, cover your shape don’t let them in.

Look down look away, do not meet their eyes, wrap yourself tight in the safety of lies.

Be silent, be quiet, and don’t ever cry, ‘cause they’ll always be watching,” he chokes on something that could be the corpse of a laugh, “at least, ‘til you die.”

 

Kouen is watching the Viper in a mix of repulsion and dark fascination. The words of the almost-nursery rhyme were too familiar for the Viper to have made them up on the spot, and he can’t help but wonder what the context of it is in his memories. It’s clear the Viper is deeply psychologically traumatized, and based on his reaction when Kouen had meant to fetch them it isn’t really even a guess to say Al Sarmen is the cause. Kouen would wager long-term abuse – torture, even – on the grounds of training and honing him into the perfect killer.

 

“Life is empty. Life is worthless. When we take a life, we take nothing of value. Life is empty. Life is worthless. When we take a life, we take nothing of value. Life is empty. Life is worthless. When we take a life, we take nothing of value…” The Viper begins repeating those three sentences like a mantra, and Kouen almost pities him.

 

He wonders how Sinbad did it. How Sinbad took this mad, broken thing and made it back into a human being.

 

The Viper trails slowly off into silence, his shoulders still shaking slightly. The whole room – the whole _palace_ – falls dead silent, even the breeze hushed. Kouha is staring at the Viper horrified, eyes wide and stunned. Even Koumei is unsettled into silence.

 

The Viper’s pale hand rises slowly, his arm curving as he reaches for the back of his neck.

 

“I have something for you,” Kouen interrupts. Everyone’s eyes turn to him, from Kouha’s stupefied resignation at the Viper’s seemingly cyclical madness to Koumei’s distant near-condescension at something he can’t reason away to the Viper’s hollow, vacant gaze. “I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for any kind of response, he turns on his heel and marches out of the room at the briskest pace he can without running.

 

When he comes back, it’s almost as if time hadn’t passed without him. No one in the room had moved an inch in his absence, and upon his reentry all eyes once again fix on him.

 

As he approaches the Viper again, Kouha sees what it is he has in his hand and stiffens, eyes widening.

 

“En-!” he starts, almost outraged, but Kouen doesn’t give him the chance to finish the statement.

 

Kouen extends the rope darts towards the Viper, the cool, supple red cords pooled in his hands underneath the engraved metal of the blades. Giving something this sharp to someone in a mentally unstable state may not be the best idea, but if the Viper wants so badly to die that he’d kill himself he’d be of no use to Kouen anyway. The Viper stares at the blades in Kouen’s hands with wide eyes.

 

“These are yours, and it’s high time you got them back.” The Viper’s eyes shift slowly up to Kouen’s face, brimming with uncertainty. “With these you can defend yourself,” Kouen elaborates, voice and face still dead serious. “And if you can defend yourself then you don’t have anything to fear from anyone.” Kouen knows for a fact that the Viper is already armed. But he also knows these rope darts are the Viper’s primary weapon, and if _he’d_ been tortured for years he knows he wouldn’t feel safe in close quarters with his tormentors with anything less than his utmost weapon of choice.

 

The Viper reaches out with trembling hands and takes the weapons from Kouen. Kouen watches, straight-faced, as he winds the cords around his arms with practiced ease. At first his movements are hesitant, slow, but by the time he reaches the end of the cord some of the tension and paranoia has eased from his posture and expression.

 

He doesn’t flinch when one of the blades is thrown at him, leaving a paper-thin cut on his cheek and ear. He hears Kouha and Koumei gasp in surprise and can picture them instantly jumping to defensive, but keeps his eyes locked on the Viper. A thin trail of blood drips down his face.

 

“You’d really trust me with these?” the Viper asks, searching Kouen’s face. Kouen blinks slowly.

 

“I trust you with them more now than I did when I gave them to you,” he answers, serious and even. His eyes narrow in a mouthless smile. “If you’d wanted to kill me, you wouldn’t have missed.”

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks get progressively easier. The Viper’s outward temperament doesn’t seem to get any better, but the imperial siblings get progressively better at understanding his mannerisms and the times when he’s _actually_ angry or bitter seem to grow progressively more infrequent. This particular morning when he once again walks into Kouen’s office without knocking or announcing himself, he seems even calmer than usual. His normal glare is absent, and his mouth and eyebrows form softer shapes than normal. He looks more like the Sindrian Ja’far today than he has since his memories were replaced.

 

“Why don’t you dethrone your step mother?” Ah. Despite appearances, he’s still carries the bluntness of the Viper. Kouen frowns at the question.

 

“Because of the way she staged it, she made it very hard to argue that she was taking over for the good of the country.” Ja’far- ah, he’s done it again. The _Viper_ snorts.

 

“You and I both know she’s Al Sarmen’s bitch. If you ever want this country to truly be yours, you have to take the throne now before the people begin to favor her as ruler instead of you. Not to mention it’s codified into your law already that it’s illegal for her to rule at all-“

 

_“What?!”_ Kouen balks. This is the first time he’s heard of _this._ The Viper arches a pale eyebrow at him.

 

“I’ll admit, it was buried deep in the laws of inheritance and succession and it seems like it hasn’t been important for several centuries, but it’s definitely there. According to Kou law, it’s illegal for the wife or daughter of the previous emperor to take the throne unless married to a man, and even then the man is the one that retains all the power. Because of an underhanded political move several dynasties ago, it was made illegal for wives or mothers to seize their sons’ or husband’s titles.”

 

“How do you know this?” Kouen asks, mind whirling. The Viper shrugs.

 

“I was bored and Koumei asked me to reorganize the records room. I started reading history, and this particular law was referenced after a mother made it look like her son had committed suicide and her husband assassinated by a rival. She was caught as the actual murderer, and since then it’s been forbidden for women to hold the titles of their male relatives so they’ll be less likely to kill them. If you want this country, all you have to do is present this law to all of the feudal lords. Once they shift their loyalty to you, with no one to back her the crown will be yours.”

 

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing this?” Kouen asks, breathless. The Viper’s face pulls into a ghost of a smile.

 

“Because Al Sarmen tried to hide it from you. This particular scroll was tucked at the very, _very_ back of your _hideously disorganized_ records room, and covered with a near instantaneously lethal contact poison. If anyone _else_ had tried to read it, they would have been dead in seconds.” Kouen blanches.

 

“Are you-?!”

 

“No, I’m not. I’ve built up resistance to basically every toxic substance on this planet. Including the one on that scroll. It’s a particularly nasty one, though, so I may be feeling a bit under the weather tomorrow.” Ja’f- the _Viper_ waves his hand dismissively. “But that’s not the point. The point is, your rightful place as emperor is right before you and you have the means to get it.”

 

“…If Al Sarmen are the ones who concealed this from me, why would you reveal it?” Kouen asks. The suspicion is automatic – nothing in this world is ever free. The Viper grins poisonously.

 

“I just want to see the look on that bitch’s face.” He snickers viciously. “I mean, when _everything_ they’ve been working for just _falls out from under her?_ All because they fucked up on which country they chose and didn’t take into account its historical laws?” He outright laughs now. “It’ll be _priceless!”_ He sobers up after another few moments of laughter. “Of course, you can’t tell them I was the one who let you in on this little secret. I’m pretty sure they’d feed me my own skin.” Seeing Kouen’s look, he sighs.

 

“Look, I may technically “be a member” of Al Sarmen, but to be honest, I don’t give a damn about their goals. I don’t give two shits if they end up doing…whatever it is they’re ultimately after or not. I just want to keep living.” His eyes darken and he drops his gaze. “And after two decades of punishment, I’ve…learned better than to try to get away.” For the first time, Kouen wonders what, exactly, they replaced Ja’far’s memories of his years with Sinbad _with_. Ja’fa- The _Viper_ shakes his head like he’s ridding himself of the dark thoughts. “But anyway. As long as I remain useful to them and don’t explicitly cause any problems, they’ll let me live. And that’s the best I can really ask for. So yes, I’m more than willing to fuck up their agenda just to see the reaction. I gave you the information to get it done, and as payment for your throne you don’t sell me out to them. That’s a good enough deal for you, isn’t it?” Kouen’s expression darkens.

 

“No, it isn’t.” The Viper’s eyes snap to his face in bewilderment.

 

“Wha-?”

 

“I want you.” The Viper stiffens like he’s been hit. Kouen stands and rounds his desk. The Viper is staring up at him with wide, almost horrified eyes as Kouen paces closer. He stops a few feet in front of the Viper. “Once I take the throne, I’m going to root Al Sarmen out of this country once and for all. They were useful when we were first setting out as an empire, but this relationship has soured. When they’re gone, I want you to stay. As my vassal.” The Viper is still looking at him like he’s about to bolt, and he seems to have forgotten how to breathe as his chest is jumping with erratic, intermittent gasps. Kouen hopes he isn’t having a panic attack. He softens his voice. “I know you want to be free from them. I know they’ve hurt you in some way. And I know you’re afraid. But I can save you from them, Viper. Where else in the world could you possibly be more protected from them than at the side of the dungeon conqueror emperor of a military state?” Careful not to startle him, he extends his hand slowly towards the Viper. “Join me.” The Viper stares at him, searching his face for a long moment.

 

With a choked exhale, the Viper falls to his knees, bowing his head. He’s shaking as he reaches out to almost hesitantly take Kouen’s hand. Kouen feels a kind of territorial triumph. _Yes, Ja’far. This time,_ I _will be your King._ The Viper brushes his lips against the back of Kouen’s fingers, head still bowed, and Kouen knows he’s stolen the most precious thing in all of Sindria. The Viper’s voice shakes a little when he speaks, but his words are clear.

 

“Yes, my Imperial Majesty.”

 

* * *

 

Early mornings in Kou are frequently wreathed in mist. It makes the world seem quiet and still and distant, and Koumei loves the mornings when soft white fog curls in from the garden.

 

The sunlight is, as of yet, diluted through cloud cover and then further diffused through the mist as he walks towards one of the smaller courtyard gardens. The ambiguous light casts few shadows and leaves the dark wood of the palace stark and almost shining. It’s too early for anyone else to be up, and Koumei savors the silence. It doesn’t quite relax him – he isn’t sure anything in the world could manage to do that at this point – but it does make him feel slightly less like a coiled spring that’s about to snap.

 

Everything had pretty much gone to hell in a handbasket when Kouen brought a certain law of inheritance to his attention. Koumei had practically driven himself to the breaking point making contact with every feudal lord, maintaining rapid correspondence with each noble family, and trying to manage the outraged backlash from their stepmother. They’re lucky Al Sarmen is still playing political games instead of trying something more militaristic. He knows their empire has the strength to beat off an assault, and he assumes this assured victory is the only reason there isn’t a knife in his back. He hadn’t known he could _get_ this stressed, and once Kouen is seated on the throne he swears he’s going to fall into a coma as a vacation.

 

“Good morning, your imperial highness.”

 

Koumei hadn’t even noticed the Viper sitting on the veranda leading out to the garden. He blends into the mist like he’s a part of it, the edges of his hair and hands seeming to almost blur into the fog in their paleness. His expression is softer than Koumei’s ever seen it, all of the sharp edges faded completely from his eyes and mouth. He seems placid and serene, all the usual tension sapped from his lithe frame.

 

He looks like glass, but Koumei knows he’s more like marble. The elegant, slim fingers are less prone to be broken than to break, the thin lips more likely to sneer than to smile. The crimson cords streak across his arms like lines in calligraphy Koumei can’t read, but he knows a Blood Viper’s skin is only red when it has just killed prey. He’s a work of art in razor blades, and Koumei knows better than to get too close.

 

He wonders if Kouen has yet tasted the bite of those razors.

 

“Good morning,” Koumei responds neutrally. This seems to be the end of their conversation, as the Viper lets the previous silence settle back over the grey landscape.

 

After a long moment of quiet, the Viper moves, one hand coming up slowly. He’s holding something slim and long, and for a paranoid moment Koumei thinks it’s a knife. When the Viper moves the end of the object to his mouth, Koumei reconsiders.

 

It’s a sekishū kiseru.

 

The metal of the suikuchi and hizara are silver, which is dissimilar to the majority of kiserus Koumei has ever seen. The hizara is engraved to look like a lotus flower, with vine-like designs curling down the gankubi to the end of the metal. The wood of the rau has been stained black and lacquered artfully, and makes the dull silver seem more vibrant. The Viper inhales slowly through the pipe, seeming to taste the smoke for a long moment before blowing it out to swirl gently with the mist.

 

“You seem tense, Koumei,” the Viper says, staring out blankly into the mist. “You can take a seat, I won’t bite.” Koumei hovers for another moment, uncertain. Finally, he sinks down beside the Viper, looking out into the garden and watching the fog curl through the trimmed pine trees.

 

They both seem to have equal respect for the silence, as no words pass between them. Ja’far takes another slow breath through the kiseru, and when he exhales the smoke Koumei can tell from the scent that it isn’t tobacco.

 

“…You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” The Viper asks, not looking at Koumei.

 

“No, I didn’t,” Koumei answers plainly. “How could you tell?” The Viper chuckles and turns to look at him for the first time since his arrival. Now that he’s closer, Koumei can see the dark circles under his eyes.

 

“Believe me, I know what a sleepless night looks like.” Leaning forward a little, he taps his kiseru gently against the edge of the deck, dislodging the spent ash in his pipe. Reaching for a small pouch beside him, he removes a pinch of a dark, hair-fine herb that Koumei doesn’t recognize. Holding the kiseru in his mouth, he carefully rolls the pinch of plant into a ball and packs it gently into the hizara. Koumei watches with a kind of vacant blatancy, the combined sleep deprivation and stress making him feel disconnected. The Viper strikes a match and breathes carefully, helping the embers to catch.

 

Koumei blinks in surprise when the Viper extends the lit kiseru to him.

 

“I’m a bit of a hypertensive insomniac myself,” he says softly. “Inhale slowly. You’ll get less ash that way. This won’t make the problems go away, but it can help you relax.”

 

Koumei accepts the offering with mild curiosity. He’d tried smoking tobacco before, but he found the scent unappealing. This plant seems to have a much more subtle scent, and Koumei inhales curiously. It is, indeed, a lot smoother than tobacco smoke, and has a much softer flavor and scent.

 

It isn’t instantaneous, but even from that single inhale he gets a mild euphoric sensation. It isn’t strong enough that he feels actively _happy_ , more like the feeling of being wrapped in a warm blanket. He sighs contentedly, watching the smoke stream away from his mouth absently.

 

He and the Viper pass the kiseru back and forth a few more times before it’s spent. Koumei exhales his last lungful of smoke, feeling more relaxed than he can remember being in months. He taps out the ash gently like the Viper had before, and holds it out to him to take back. The Viper smiles and shakes his head a little.

 

“You keep it,” he says, passing over the pouch of herbs as well. “My nightmares aren’t so bad as of late. You seem to need it more than I do.” He stands slowly, still smiling at Koumei. “It can make you dizzy the first few times, so be careful walking back to your room.” Koumei blinks at him blearily, a little too out of it to properly respond.

 

“…Thank you…” he finally manages to murmur. The Viper smiles a little more and bows.

 

“Of course, your imperial highness. I owe your brother a great debt, after all.”

 

* * *

 

Sickness is never something to be taken lightly. Particularly when it’s a sickness no one seems to be able to identify. So when a sickness breaches a wing of the imperial palace and takes it by storm, nobody was brushing it off as a light issue.

 

Kougyoku was the first to collapse.

 

After her, one by one, others began dropping like flies. The only definitive thing that could be identified about the disease was that it caused sores, vomiting, physical weakness, and was highly communicable. In a last-ditch effort to contain the outbreak, the entire wing of the palace was quarantined.

 

Every imperial princess contracted it, as did a large portion of their personal staff. Even Kouha had a high fever for several nights after going to visit his sisters. Every political issue taking place at the time was put on immediate hold, all attention focused on figuring out what this was and curing it.

 

The problem was, nobody seemed able to.

 

Doctors were summoned from all across Kou, and even beyond as they grew more desperate. All arrived with the same optimism that _they_ would be the one to find the cure. Each seemed to have their own diagnosis for what the problem was, but with every failed new remedy the situation grew bleaker and bleaker.

 

The eldest imperial princess was the first to die. And once the deaths began, they started happening faster and faster.

 

Ja’far opened the sliding door, fresh sheets and towels draped over one arm. A bowl of cool water was in his other hand. He walked with the same grim determination everyone else in the palace had since the plague began, his expression and posture tense.

 

“And where are you going with those.” Ja’far draws up short at Kouen’s voice, almost spilling the water as he comes around the corner and face to face with the crown prince. Kouen is watching him with a displeased frown, arms crossed.

 

“I’m going to visit your sisters,” Ja’far responds evenly. Kouen’s eyes narrow.

 

“You said yourself it was too dangerous to visit.” Ja’far clenches his jaw.

 

“No, I said it was too dangerous for _you_ to visit. You are the _imperial heir apparent_ and will shortly be the _emperor._ _You_ can’t be let near a communicable virus. _I_ – as a mere vassal – have far less political value. Now let me pass.” He walks forward again, only stopping short when he’s literally about to collide with Kouen’s chest and Kouen still hasn’t moved. He stops and glares up at him. “What’s the fucking problem? I’m trying to help your sisters!”

 

“Where did you get the idea that you don’t have value?” Ja’far rolls his eyes.

 

“I’m not that fucking stupid, okay? I don’t have any titles, I don’t have any political role…I don’t even have a real _name_ , for Solomon’s sake! I may be your vassal, but I’m only an assassin. There are plenty of those in the world, just find yourself another if I kick it! Now get out of my way, I’m _going_ to help your sisters.”

 

Ja’far feints like he’s going to pass Kouen on the left, then ducks around his right when Kouen reaches out to stop him. A bit of the water sloshes out of the bowl as he does so, but Ja’far doesn’t stop, moving as fast as he can down the corridor without spilling any more. To his surprise, Kouen doesn’t chase him.

 

“You may not have political power, but that doesn’t make you worthless.” Kouen’s words stop Ja’far in his tracks. “You must know you have value to me. I wouldn’t have asked you to be my vassal if you didn’t.”

 

Ja’far doesn’t muster a response. He remains frozen for another moment, something clenching in his chest, then marches briskly away towards the quarantined wing.

 

Following protocol, he doesn’t emerge for another three weeks, during which time the sickness finishes its deadly sweep through the imperial sisters.

 

Kougyoku is the only one to survive.

 

The next time Ja’far sees Kouen, he’s helping Kougyoku take a short walk through a nearby courtyard garden. He catches sight of him sweeping around a corner, no doubt headed to a meeting. Nonetheless, when he catches sight of Ja’far in the garden, he pauses, mouth parting slightly in surprise. Ja’far can’t help but smile, remembering what Kouen said to him just before he’d entered the quarantined wing. He’s shocked when Kouen turns away without response or greeting, continuing on his earlier course. Ja’far feels confusion and disappointment bubble up in his chest and furrows his brows, staring after the first prince.

 

Kougyoku wobbles, her weakness from the sickness still not quite receded, and Ja’far instantly reaches out to steady her. He shakes his head, banishing any distracting or unnecessary thoughts, and helps guide Kougyoku back to her room for some more rest.

 

Ja’far sees Kouen again just before he’s about to return to his room to sleep. Ja’far bows as they pass each other in the hall and takes another two steps before he completely freezes up. He swallows thickly, his chest constricting almost painfully.

 

“…I’m sorry I couldn’t save more of them,” he finally manages to murmur. He clenches his hands into fists, trying not to shake. “I…I did everything I could, but…I’m just…” He drops his head. “…I’ve only had to kill before, not save. I didn’t know how.” He knows he’s making excuses and he hates himself a little bit for it, but dammit he just needs Kouen to actually _look_ at him again. The footsteps heading away from him have stopped, and Ja’far hesitantly turns and looks up.

 

Kouen is staring at him silently, and Ja’far thinks he must still be angry until he speaks.

 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Kouen’s voice is weaker than Ja’far has ever heard it, and he tries not to openly blanch. “You’re not a healer. You’re not a doctor. You weren’t the one who was made responsible for saving them. I- I just-“ Kouen raises a hand to his face and Ja’far notices for the first time his shoulders are shaking. “They were my _sisters_ and I-“

 

Ja’far knows he’s far out of line, but in that moment Kouen looks so much more like a man than an emperor. He can’t help it.

 

Without thinking, Ja’far approaches him, wrapping his arms around Kouen. Kouen stiffens against him, and part of Ja’far contemplates running. But he can’t. Not after what he’d seen in the prince’s eyes. “Grief is human,” he murmurs into Kouen’s chest. “Pain is human. This isn’t weakness, Kouen, it’s living. Nobody’s watching you now. Let yourself hurt.”

 

Kouen remains frozen for another long moment, and Ja’far thinks he’s going to push him away. But instead he feels two arms drop around his frame. At first Kouen is hesitant, but it isn’t long before he’s clutching to Ja’far like he’s drowning.

 

“How can they just be gone?!” he whispers breathlessly. “I watched them grow up, I held them as infants, _how can they just be gone?!”_ Kouen takes in a choked gasp. “I picked them up when they fell, I wiped away their tears, _why couldn’t I be there for them when they died?!”_ His voice takes on a helpless, bitter kind of rage. His grip on Ja’far is painful, but that’s hardly what Ja’far is concerned with now. If he can be a comfort, how can he complain over a few bruises? “Oh Solomon, they were my _family_ , my baby sisters…”

 

Ja’far doesn’t have words of comfort to offer. He doesn’t have condolences, or soft nothings to somehow make this better. So he just holds Kouen and lets him be a human instead of a King.

 

He feels spots of wetness fall onto his shoulder and hair. He knows better than to mention it the next morning.

 

* * *

 

It’s months before the palace regains anything close to normalcy. Everyone tries to wade through it as best they can, and ruling an empire is a demanding distraction. The grief fades more and more over time. Kouha gets Kougyoku and Koumei to laugh one afternoon by doing an unflattering impression of a certain grumpy record-keeper, and that’s when Kouen becomes certain that things really are going to be okay again.

 

Kouha drags the Viper into the royal dining hall that evening. Kouen does mean drag in the literal sense, as with the non-stop stream of flustered protests the Viper makes it quite clear that he didn’t come voluntarily.

 

“En, make him sit with us!” Kouha whines as the Viper tries to subtly pry the youngest prince off his arm. Kouen knows the Viper’s squawking is due to propriety and not to any real distaste at joining them for dinner.

 

“Viper, sit down,” he says plainly. The Viper stops struggling and just _stares_ at him, any retort he was about to make at Kouha freezing on his tongue. Kouen blinks at him blandly. “Yes, that was an _order._ Sit down. And don’t glare at Kouha.” Kouha grins cheekily at the Viper as he takes a disgruntled seat between Kouen and Kouha on Kouen’s left. Koumei and Kougyoku are seated to Kouen’s right.

 

The meal passed in almost complete normalcy. The Viper didn’t talk much at first, but as the meal went on he loosened up more and more, finally asking bluntly (with a rather sour look on his face) why Kou cuisine insisted on pickling _everything_ – a question (and expression) that left Kouha laughing for the better part of five minutes.

 

Once the meal itself was concluded, Koumei produced a bottle of umeshu seemingly from nowhere. When the Viper disclosed that he’d never had it before, Kouha gasped like he’d been personally offended. He’d _insisted_ that the Viper try it, not letting up until he’d taken a sip. The Viper had blinked, surprised, and said it was _good_ , and Kouha and Koumei shared a conspiratorial glance.

 

Kouen wondered if he should warn him that – for a sweet wine – umeshu actually had fairly high alcohol content.

 

…Nah.

 

Two bottles between the five of them later, and the Viper’s cheeks were a little pink and he was blinking slower than usual.

 

That’s when Kouha asked if he could sing.

 

Kouen could tell he was only _just_ drunk enough to give an honest response based on the long, narrowed look the Viper gave Kouha before answering yes. The response seemed not only to take Kouen by surprise, but Kouha as well. Clearly Kouha had been scheming to have him answer no and then bully him into drunkenly singing something ridiculous with him.

 

Kougyoku – ever the happy drunk – clapped her hands together excitedly and all but _begged_ him to sing a song. Kouha soon joined her, and even Koumei added his input. The Viper, flushed a little darker now with embarrassment as well as alcohol, agreed hesitantly, but warned that it probably wouldn’t sound great without the instrumental accompaniment. The three of them had all waved him off, Kouen content to watch the events unfold as they would. The Viper cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter.

 

“My love and I headed out on the sea

with our bones on our backs, our backs on our knees

I was small, he was straight –

We left our love in a bedridden gate, for shame.

 

Why can’t you see? The sky isn’t green anymore!

Why don’t you know what I need on these shores?

 

All I want is love eternally,

With your heart facing me.

 

Science says stones don’t fly through water

And souls don’t matter if you love your mother.

If karma could dance, she’d tango forever

And I’d sell my sleeves for some cloud-ridden weather.

 

Why can’t you see? Heaven won’t wait for us!

Salutations and prayers are too laborious.

 

All I want is love eternally,

With your heart facing me.”

 

Kouen didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but a love song had probably been at the very bottom of the list. The Viper’s voice is a clear, bright tenor, and when everyone claps enthusiastically for his performance he blushes and looks down, but not before Kouen catches the smile on his face.

 

Conversation continues easily for the next hour or so, and then Kougyoku is the first to peel away, complaining of sleepiness. Kouha follows shortly after, claiming that he “just had a few more things to take care of” and definitely wasn’t tired at _all_ , even as he stifled a yawn. Koumei remained for a while afterwards, the conversation dropping to a more mellow, lethargic tone. Eventually he too rose and left the room, and a peaceful silence falls between its two remaining occupants.

 

Kouen catches himself smiling in something close to fondness at the Viper’s unfocused, relaxed expression. Unconsciously, he begins tracing the freckles on his face, forming absent constellations between them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Viper’s mouth move and only realizes he’s talking after he’s completely missed the statement.

 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Kouen asks.

 

“’M gonna make tea,” the Viper says. Kouen can’t help the chuckle.

 

“I’m not sure you’re in a state to make anything right now. I can have the servants-“ The Viper shakes his head resolutely.

 

“Special kind. None of that green… _piss_ you drink all the time here. The servant…wouldn’t do it right. Just have someone…bring hot water.” The Viper isn’t necessarily _slurring_ his words, but they don’t seem to come as easily to his tongue as they normally would. Kouen, amused, indulges him, and a pot of hot water arrives promptly.

 

The Viper reaches into what must be an inner pocket on his shirt, producing a drawstring pouch. He tugs it open, then sniffs the contents. Scowling, he reties it closed and sets it on the table, reaching under his shirt and producing another identical one. Kouen raises an eyebrow as he repeats the process another five times. _Where does he_ keep _all of these?_

 

“Having trouble finding what you’re looking for?” Kouen asks as yet _another_ pouch is produced seemingly from nowhere.

 

“Well I’m not trying to fucking poison you, so I don’t think you want me to make a tea out of any of _those_ ,” he says, gesturing to the discarded pouches on the table. He opens this one, sniffing the contents. A triumphant gleam enters his eyes. “Found you you little bitch…” Kouen wonders if the Viper frequently refers to inanimate objects like they can hear him when he’s drunk.

 

From within the bag, Ja’far extracts a _smaller_ bag, this one formed of some kind of fine, transparent fabric. The tea within looks to be herbal, if Kouen were to hazard a guess. Without ceremony, the Viper drops the whole thing into the teapot.

 

“It’s a special kind of fabric that’s meant for tea. It keeps the leaves from getting mixed inexorably into the water while still letting it steep fully.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the pot of water, but what he’s watching for Kouen isn’t sure.

 

After a measure of time that the Viper must measure somehow, or see in the color of the water, he extracts the bag again from within the teapot, simultaneously upending the remaining contents of the larger pouch in his hand into the pot. Kouen raises an eyebrow.

 

“I thought the point of the bag was to keep the ingredients out of the water?” The Viper waves him off.

 

“Shh. You can judge after you try it.” After letting whatever he’d poured into the water sit for about a minute, he pours the contents of the teapot into the two cups that had been brought with the teapot. He takes a sip first, checking for flavor. Seeming satisfied, he passes the other cup to Kouen.

 

Kouen takes a cautious sip, wary of the temperature of the water and the foreign flavor. The water is still almost hot enough to scald, but he’s pleasantly surprised by the taste. It’s bold, spicy but simultaneously sweet in a way Kou tea isn’t. Every flavor in it is new to Kouen, but he doesn’t dislike it. In his second sip he catches a piece of whatever it was the Viper had dumped in the tea second. It catches in his teeth before he swallows it, and biting it spreads a burst of vibrant flavor over his tongue. It complements the flavor of the tea perfectly, and of all the things he’d pictured the Viper doing as a hobby, flawless tea-mixing hadn’t been high on the list.

 

“Do you like it?” the Viper asks over the rim of his own cup.

 

“Very much. It’s distinctly different than anything I’ve ever tasted. What’s in it?” Kouen asks. The Viper leans back like he’s considering the question, taking a thoughtful sip of his tea.

 

“…Well, none of the herbs I used are native to Kou, so I don’t think you will have heard of them. Oh, but some of the ingredients are also used in Chai tea, if you’ve ever had that on your travels. But the majority of them wouldn’t be familiar to you.”

 

“Try me.” Kouen hasn’t studied foreign flora extensively, but some of the names might at least have been mentioned in a text he’s read.

 

“Well…chopped yohimbe bark from the dark continent are the pieces I dumped into the tea last. Those can only be steeped very briefly, too long and they soften too much and come apart. There’s maca and damiana in the tea itself, as well as ginseng. Ginkgo biloba and clavohuasca are the main ingredients, though. Oh, and muira puama as well. And guarana berries are the fruity hint in there. Eh…there’s a few more, but that’s the basics of it.” He may as well have been speaking a different language for all that Kouen had understood. He’d recognized ginseng of course, but every other plant that had been mentioned was completely foreign to him. At any rate, the tea is delicious, and it isn’t long before they’ve mutually drained the pot.

 

The Viper, smiling, politely excuses himself and leaves, bidding Kouen restful sleep before he goes.

 

Kouen leaves shortly after him, heading for his own chambers intent on getting some sleep. He prepares himself for bed and lies down under the covers, but regardless of how long he lays there, the ceiling just keeps staring back down at him. He rolls over half a dozen times trying to find a comfortable position, but it’s like there’s something hot racing under his skin and he just can’t sit still.

 

Finally, frustrated, Kouen rises again. He just needs to _relax_. He tries pacing his room to rid himself of the excess energy, but it just won’t quit him. A longer walk, perhaps? He slides open the door to his room, walking in the cool moonlight that pierces the rice paper screens. He walks down one corridor after another, and when he considers his surroundings again, he’s very near the communal bath.

 

Thinking, perhaps, that _that_ will relax him out of this inexplicable state, he enters the bathroom, quickly stripping his nightclothes and folding them neatly. He goes through the motions of washing himself before sinking into the hot water of the bath. They’re lucky in that there was a natural hot spring practically under the imperial palace that they’d been able to tap into, leaving the communal bath available at any hour.

 

Kouen tries to lose himself in the curls of rising steam, but something restless still itches under his skin. It seems to make all his senses hypersensitive, and it makes him acutely aware of the sound of the door opening. Kouen lowers his gaze towards the room’s new occupant, wondering who could possibly be up this late.

 

It’s the Viper.

 

He hasn’t noticed Kouen yet, and Kouen absently watches the Viper soap and wash his body and hair. It’s the first time Kouen has seen this much skin from him, and he seems to nearly shine like the moon. He’s paler than any person Kouen has seen that isn’t a corpse, but not in an unappealing way. Rather than make him ugly or unsettling, his alabaster skin makes him exotic and fascinating.

 

Kouen actually _sees_ the moment he’s noticed.

 

The Viper startles, fumbling and nearly dropping the wooden rinsing bucket as he turns toward the bath. Kouen doesn’t react, continuing to stare at him impassively, studying his form.

 

“M-My lord I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were here,” he stumbles, his fluttering movements telling Kouen of his surprise and embarrassment. “I-I usually bathe this late at night so as not to disturb anyone, but I’ll just come back later-“

 

“Viper, it’s called a communal bath for a reason. _Relax._ You don’t have to leave.” He’s still hovering anxiously and Kouen sighs, turning his face upwards and letting his eyes drift closed. “It’s fine, Viper. This is traditional in Kou. Come sit down.” Finally, he hears the Viper take the few hesitant steps he needs to reach the bath. Kouen’s eyes float open again as he hears the Viper step into the bath, and now that he’s closer the steam isn’t hiding him as much and Kouen sees what he couldn’t before.

 

 

The Viper’s skin, nearly from head to toe, is riddled with even paler white lines of varying thicknesses and lengths. The Viper must see Kouen’s eyes catch on the scars, for he flinches back, embarrassed.

 

“I’m…sorry. I know my skin is…ugly…” Kouen lets his eyes drift back to the Viper’s face, which is turned down and away from him.

 

“Scars aren’t ugly. They’re a testament to one’s strength. I have my fair share as well.” The Viper doesn’t reply, sinking to take a seat some distance from Kouen.

 

Something is different tonight. Kouen wonders why, now so much more than before, he notices the gentle, slim curve of the Viper’s neck. Why he notices the lithe frame and lean muscle. Why a droplet of water, sliding down from the edge of his jawbone, is so hypnotic as it glides down his throat and the beginning of his chest before colliding with the pool below…

 

Kouen shifts his attention, but it catches on something else. The Viper’s looking away from him, and from this vantage point Kouen can see the back of his neck. Unlike the older, paler scars, the skin here is still a freshly healing pink. Kouen frowns, remembering the night when he’d witnessed the Viper tearing into his own skin there in a panic-induced mental break.

 

“…Why did you do that to yourself?” he asks, staring at the fresh scars, which he can see layer over previous old ones in the same place. The Viper looks at him in confusion.

 

“What?” he asks, clearly not knowing what Kouen is referring to. Kouen, almost outside his own control, slides closer to him, reaching out and brushing the very tips of his fingers against the fresh scar tissue.

 

“This. Why did you hurt yourself like this?” The Viper swallows, looking down and away but not moving to swat off Kouen’s hand.

 

“…To…To try to get rid of the mark,” he mumbles. Kouen’s brow furrows in confusion.

 

“Mark?” he asks. He’d seen nothing of the sort on the Viper’s neck, only the raised layers of scar tissue from repeated episodes of clawing. The Viper’s jaw clenches.

 

“I wasn’t…born into the Organization. I was brought in when I was about six years old. As a…slave.” The last word is almost whispered he says it so quietly. “My parents were poor and lived in a rural area. They, the whole village, were heavily superstitious. So someone like me, who looks so _different_ , so _freakish_ , so _unnatural_ … They thought I was some kind of bad omen, or the incarnation of a demon. They wanted me gone and they needed money, so when a slaver passed through…well.” He smiles bitterly. “What’s another mouth to feed worth against _five silver coins._ ” The Viper spits the last words venomously. He looks at Kouen with a kind of hollowness in his eyes. “One of your hair pieces alone is worth more than twenty times what my own parents were willing to sell me for. Is that what family’s worth?” He looks away again, staring into some distance Kouen can’t see.

 

“The slaver brought me to Riem. He knew that with certain…” He swallows thickly. “…certain aspects of Riem culture that I could sell very highly there. But to be sold in Riem, every slave has to undergo a kind of…assessment. So that they can’t legally be sold for more than they’re worth. Particularly in…my type of product they ensure you really are the age you’re being advertised as, as well as keeping you for a holding period to ensure you don’t show any symptoms of disease. Once you’re approved for sale in whichever market they allow, they brand you with the symbol of the rank of sale you’re cleared for. Because of my…uncommon appearance, age, and lack of disease, I was cleared for sale in the aristocratic level market. The mark on the back of my neck is the symbol of how my life spun irrevocably out of my control, and a constant reminder that no matter what I do with it now or what I become, I’ll always just be…product.”

 

Kouen is watching him seriously. Whatever brand scar there may have been, it’s long gone. Covered by layers and layers of repeated self-loathing and a desperate need to escape. But he doesn’t need to try it to know the Viper wouldn’t believe him if he said any mark there ever was is long buried in the self-inflicted scars.

 

Instead, Kouen lets his fingers trail to the array of scars on the Viper’s upper back. These are thinner, but vary in length. Based on fading, he’d guess they all occurred within the same two years or so.

 

“What of these?” he asks. The Viper shrugs, Kouen’s fingers sliding along his skin as he does so. He wouldn’t have believed a snake’s skin could be so smooth…

 

“Minor infractions during my training with Al Sarmen. Didn’t memorize a poison correctly, didn’t pick up a lesson fast enough, asked a question, or hesitated to follow an order. That kind of thing. My combat teacher’s main weapon was a chain whip, so he definitely knew how to make lashes hurt.” Kouen traces each overlapping line to their end. The longest starts on the Viper’s right shoulder blade and curves slowly down and across his spine, ending just above his left hip. He hmms thoughtfully at the Viper’s words. They’d certainly been harsh masters if such things were so viciously punished.

 

The next scar Kouen’s eyes choose to fix on are a series of parallel, horizontal lines at the base of the Viper’s throat. These don’t seem quite as deep as the others. “And these?” he asks, hardly aware of the more feral tone his voice has taken on. The Viper’s skin is electrifying, somehow stimulating the restless fire that had been brewing under his skin all evening further. The Viper tips his head back to give Kouen a clearer view, and Kouen notices how he swallows when the callous pad of his thumb sweeps across the column of his throat.

 

“F-Failed assassinations. Of course I got the deader in each case, but it was…messy…” He seems to be striving for normalcy of tone, but it isn’t hard to hear the breathiness in his voice.

 

The Viper doesn’t have as many scars on his front as he did on his back. Kouen lets his fingers glide down the Viper’s chest, searching for any that may be hidden by the water. Every tiny hitch of breath is like music to his ears. His fingertips finally catch on a ridge of scar tissue on his lower stomach.

 

“And this?” he rumbles quietly, tracing the raised line agonizingly slow.

 

“One of my first…solo missions,” the Viper murmurs, struggling to keep his breathing even. His eyes are a little hazy, but fixed on Kouen’s face. “I was supposed to…kill the unborn child of a woman without killing her, but I…froze up. Couldn’t make myself do it, ended up killing her too… The scar mirrors the cut I was…supposed to make…”

 

Following the ridge of the Viper’s hip, Kouen’s hand traces the thick ribbon of scar on his outer thigh.

 

“This one?” He can see how uneven the Viper’s breathing is, feel the tension in his muscles. He sees how wide the Viper’s pupils have blown, and the rise of color in his cheeks.

 

“Slept with…a deader… Didn’t kill him…”The Viper is leaning back against the wall of the bath for support. His eyes are hazy and half-lidded. This answer intrigues Kouen, and he raises an eyebrow. He digs his thumb a little more harshly into the scar, making the Viper gasp, arching his neck.

 

“Oh?” he asks. “And what was this deader’s name?” The Viper feels tense enough to snap under Kouen’s touch.

 

“S-Sinbad!” the Viper gasps, his eyes clenched shut. Kouen’s eyes narrow and a wave of jealous fire sweeps over him. He wonders how many times Sinbad has gotten to see this exact sight. This pale, normally subdued man stretched out and bare, beautiful and desperate. Well. Exclusivity is one more thing he can take away from him, and Kouen isn’t complaining. He smiles, seizing the Viper’s leg by the calf and hefting it out of the water.

 

“And this one?” he asks, staring straight into the Viper’s face as he traces slowly up the identical strip of scarring on the inside of his leg. The Viper is staring at him again, face flushed and unabashedly panting now.

 

“That…” he starts, searching for breath. “…That really isn’t important right now.” And when his arms lock around Kouen’s neck, pulling him down to kiss him for the first time, Kouen can’t help but agree.

 

He pulls back after an extended moment, staring possessively down at the pale man before him.

 

“I’m going to give you a name. A real name. And in return, you will scream mine at least three times tonight.” _Nothing of him will be yours anymore, Sinbad._

 

The Viper- no, _Ja’far_ nods hurriedly. The trip back to Kouen’s room passes in a blur.

 

Kouen keeps his promise.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Ja’far wakes slowly, feeling sleep slide off of him like a blanket. Opening his eyes and blinking blearily a few times, he becomes aware of two things simultaneously.

 

He’s lying with his head on Kouen’s chest, and morning sunlight is already pressed against the rice paper doors.

 

To rephrase, _he’s still in Kouen’s room and it’s already a time at which other people will be awake._

 

Ja’far moves to rise, standing a little unsteadily at first. He casts his eyes around the room, taking in the veritable explosion of discarded clothing. He can hear Kouen stirring and finds his gaze inescapably drawn to him.

 

“Good morning,” Kouen rumbles.

 

“Good morning, your imperial highness,” Ja’far responds. Something of a devilish smile comes to Kouen’s face.

 

“I don’t recall you addressing me so last night. Come, Ja’far. You’ve long since earned the right to use my name.” Ja’far flushes to the tips of his ears. He opens his mouth to respond when a sound catches his attention.

 

Footsteps. Undoubtedly approaching footsteps.

 

Ja’far slips up to the door silently, opening it the very tiniest of cracks and peering down the hallway.

 

_“Shit!”_ he hisses, drawing back and closing the door. _“Shit shit shit!”_ His eyes dart around the room, looking for anywhere to hide. Finding nowhere, he starts diving for his scattered clothing. Kouen arches an eyebrow at him.

 

“What?”

 

“Your _brother_ is _coming down the hallway!”_ Ja’far hisses, sweeping on his kimono and tying it hastily. He lunges towards his hakama, simultaneously trying to smooth his hair into something like normalcy.

 

“Ah. Koumei usually comes to wake me in the morning. If you’d kept sleeping he would have gotten a very nice view.” Ja’far stops dead in his tracks. He turns slowly, giving Kouen a kind of vapid, horrified smile.

 

“There’s…There’s this word…it’s called _“reputation.”_ Have you heard of it? Well-“

 

“You forgot your nagajuban,” Kouen says blandly, cutting off the incoming lecture. Ja’far looks down at himself.

 

_“Shit!”_ he snarls, but there’s no way, Koumei is too close by now-

 

In a last ditch effort, he dives, stuffing the offending garment under the futon. Then, with a rather elegant roll he’s back on his feet and smiling politely just as Koumei opens the door.

 

Koumei blinks in surprise at seeing Ja’far there. Ja’far keeps the pleasant, polite smile on his face, desperately vying for normalcy.

 

“Good morning, your imperial highness. I knew his imperial majesty had a rather full schedule today, so I thought I’d come wake him early. Forgive me, I didn’t know this was something you normally did.” Ja’far bows contritely. When he straightens, Koumei’s face is characteristically even but his eyes are glittering with something Ja’far can’t immediately identify. “If you’ll excuse me-“

 

“There’s a hickey on the left side of your neck, just under your jaw,” Koumei’s voice is flat, but Ja’far can hear the edge of laughter in it. Kouen unabashedly lets out a bark of laughter behind him.

 

Ja’far tenses to the very roots of his hair, an embarrassed flush not far behind. His hand flies up to his neck and _really_ , Kouen _does_ need a lecture on reputation, laughing like he is at a time like this. A harried glance shows Koumei’s shoulders shaking in silent amusement as well, and Ja’far supposes it really is too late to salvage anything of his dignity.

 

“Don’t worry,” Koumei says, voice uneven with repressed laughter, “I won’t tell anyone. I owe you for curing my insomnia.”

 

Ja’far can’t take any more. Mumbling something polite, he all but flees the room. It’s only when he gets back to his own chamber and catches a glance of his reflection in one of his blades that he realizes. And he swears, _all_ of these princes need a lesson in etiquette and propriety. Assuming he doesn’t gut them first.

 

There’s no mark on his neck.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for letting me accompany you, your imperial highness.” Kouha shrugs, shifting his weight in the saddle so he can turn to smile back at Ja’far amicably.

 

“Not like it’s exactly a great strain on me to let you ride with me,” he says. To be honest, he rather detests horseback riding. But Kouen insists he must get better at it. So bi-weekly, he’s been rather forced to go riding in the nearby wilderness. The scenery of the mountainous forests of Kou is nice, at least, but the constant swaying and downright _stench_ of horses isn’t exactly his favorite. He’s forced to strap his metal vessel to the back of his saddle as well, as it’s too large to wear without injuring the horse while he rides. It’s much harder to reach this way, and he doesn’t like it being so hard to get to.

 

“…Why exactly did you want to come with me, though?” Kouha can’t help but ask. “You seem about as disinterested in horseback riding as _I_ am.” Ja’far looks down, his expression going somber.

 

“There’s…something I need to talk to you about.” Kouha perks up, genuinely curious.

 

“Oh?” he asks, reigning his horse in to a reserved walk as they near a narrower part of the trail, a steep cliff against the other side. Ja’far mirrors him, his own horse pulling back to a matched pace, slightly behind Kouha’s to allow for the narrowness of the trail. He hears Ja’far take a deep breath behind him.

 

“I…think there’s something wrong with me,” Ja’far says. Kouha feels his eyebrows shoot up.

 

“What do you mean?” he asks. “Are you sick? Or-“

 

“I don’t feel like I belong here.” Kouha feels everything go remarkably still. Ja’far’s voice sounds wretched and guilty, but resolute. Kouha tries to play it off.

 

“Kou has very traditional culture. It just takes getting used to,” he tries.

 

“No, that isn’t what I mean.” Ja’far is beginning to sound frustrated, his voice going sharp with self-loathing. “It’s ridiculous. You and your family have been nothing but kind to me, but no matter how much time passes I can’t help but feel like there’s something…off. Out of place. Missing. I’ve tried ignoring it, I’ve tried everything I can think of to make it go away, but somehow I still feel like this.” He can hear shame in Ja’far’s voice. “I’ve run out of ideas. So…I’m looking for outside help now, I guess. I haven’t…told anyone else about this. Not even En- his imperial majesty,” Ja’far corrects himself hastily.

 

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to help you, Ja’far. I’m not much of a-“

 

“No, it _had_ to be you. Your brothers are great men, but neither are…compassionate.” A small smile comes to his face. “I knew you’d hear me out. And private conversations aren’t exactly easy with the other two…you’re the easiest one to get alone.”

 

* * *

 

When Ja’far comes charging back onto palace grounds, his horse practically foaming at the mouth from running so hard, Kouen knows something’s wrong. When Kouha doesn’t follow a moment later, the feeling intensifies tenfold. When Ja’far starts _screaming_ for help, Kouen thinks the world may well be ending. He sprints out into the plaza to meet Ja’far, and when Ja’far looks at him with nothing but desperate terror in his face, Kouen wonders if this can even be real.

 

“Ja’far what’s wrong? Where’s Kouha?” Kouen demands.

 

“I couldn’t- I couldn’t move him, his neck- Already dug him out- Get a _healer_ -“ Ja’far’s voice is fast and desperate, his sentences fragmented and scattered. But it’s enough.

 

“Two fresh horses _NOW!”_ Kouen roars. It’s mere moments before his order is obeyed, but to Kouen it feels like lifetimes. He swings up into the saddle and Ja’far switches over to the new horse. They’re out the gates minutes after Ja’far had come thundering through them, but it still feels like it’s been too long.

 

He lets Ja’far lead the way, crashing along a forest path recklessly fast. Ja’far brings his horse to a screeching halt just as the path begins to narrow, leaping from the saddle and running ahead on foot. It doesn’t take long for Kouen to see why.

 

A rockslide.

 

They normally only occurred during the rainy season, when the soil was eroded away by repeated flushings of water, but it wasn’t unheard of for them to happen during this time of year as well. The path up ahead, just at its narrowest point, had given way, crashing down the cliff face. Ja’far barely pauses at this new gap, dropping to slide down the new slope instead. He’s still moving recklessly fast with how steep the gradient is, and while Kouen shares his sense of urgency he can’t follow quite as quickly. By the time Kouen makes it to the bottom he’s panting from the exertion of the descent.

 

Ja’far is a few meters ahead of him, kneeling on the ground in front of Kouha.

 

For a moment, Kouen’s eyes somehow reject that that really is his little brother. The twisted limbs, vicious scrapes, and torn clothes simply _can’t_ belong to the jovial, immature boy Kouen eats dinner with every evening. Kouha’s horse is nearby, half-buried in rubble, and as Kouen stands there staring, uncomprehending, he hears it wheeze its last.

 

Kouha’s neck is at a horrifying angle.

 

“I couldn’t move him- His neck’s broken- He would have _died_ if I brought him back- Oh _Solomon,”_ Ja’far stutters. He buries his face in his hands. “But I wasn’t- I wasn’t fast enough-“ Kouen’s brain is still trying to reject what Ja’far is saying, what his words mean. But Kouha’s face is angled perfectly towards him, and he can see the look of desperate terror and shock frozen into his features.

 

He can see the way his eyes are already cloudy and unfocused.

 

Kouen crosses the short distance and sinks to his knees beside him, everything else in the universe seeming to cease to exist. All he can see is his little brother. His little brother, with his leg twisted hideously at the knee. His little brother, one arm pinned unnaturally far beneath his torso, the other bent excruciatingly at the humerus. His little brother, staring empty and _dead_ at a sky he can’t see anymore.

 

“Phenex,” Kouen mumbles breathlessly, unable to tear his eyes away. _“Phenex-“_

 

**_My King, you know it is too late for me to help,_** the Djinn murmurs in his mind. And Kouen breaks.

 

He scoops Kouha up into his arms, embracing him desperately and blindly. Something close to a sob tears out of his throat at the way Kouha hangs limply in his arms, his head lolling against Kouen’s shoulder.

 

Time passes, but Kouen isn’t really aware of it. When Ja’far gently touches his shoulder, getting him to look up for the first time, afternoon is already waning into evening.

 

“We should take him back,” Ja’far says quietly, hesitant to break whatever fragile calm had left Kouen still for so long. “We have to tell people… Koumei, Kougyoku…they have to know.” Kouen knows he’s right, but movement seems almost impossible. Nonetheless, Ja’far begins to coax him into standing. He complies almost docilely, feeling completely wrung out.

 

Kouha feels impossibly light in his arms. Infantile. Climbing back up the rubble of the rockslide is a challenge unburdened, but carrying the weight of a corpse and his shattered heart make it thousands of times harder. When they reach the top after what seems like eons, Ja’far leaves him to fetch the horses, which had wandered off a ways. In the meantime, Kouen lowers Kouha to the ground once more before slipping off his cape. He drapes it over Kouha’s body, wrapping him carefully.

 

When they arrive home, Koumei meets them at the gates. His eyes quickly fall from Kouen’s hollow face to the wrapped bundle in his arms. His face goes ashen. He doesn’t move, seeming completely rooted to the spot like a statue. Even when Kouen passes him, his eyes remain fixed on the point where he first caught sight of the wrapped body. Ja’far stops his horse beside Koumei and dismounts. He herds him gently back towards the palace, whispering words Kouen can’t make out. If the near mantra Ja’far had repeated on their way back is any indication, it’s probably apologies.

 

When Kougyoku sees the body-sized bundle, she only has one horrified moment of silence before bursting into wails. As if seeking terrible confirmation, she rips the cloak back from Kouha’s face. Koumei catches sight of it and gags, Ja’far supporting him as he turns away and retches. It hadn’t sunken in, somehow, exactly whose corpse was wrapped in that cloak until that moment.  

 

Kouen doesn’t let himself weep during the funeral. As an imperial prince, the ceremony had to be something of a public affair. And weakness in front of his subordinates and citizens is unacceptable. He only lets himself break down in the private moments, and pretends not to notice the bruises that emerge on Ja’far’s skin from his too-tight, too-desperate grip. Every time he sees Koumei he’s now accompanied by a silver and black kiseru, non-stop smoking and sleepless nights leaving his eyes bloodshot and bleary. Kougyoku doesn’t stop crying for days, locking herself away in her room.

 

They break, all three of them, in their own ways, and Kouen can’t help but wonder if they even have the strength to rebuild this time.

 

* * *

 

Ja’far is lying beside Kouen, head resting on his bare chest. His fingers brush lightly over the skin there, before settling over his heart just to feel the pulse. Kouen doesn’t stir, but Ja’far is certain he’s still awake. They’re silent. They’ve been largely silent since Kouha’s death.

 

“…Hey, do you remember the promise I made you?” Ja’far murmurs against Kouen’s skin, his hands following his mouth as he begins kissing Kouen’s chest. Kouen gives a tiny wince when Ja’far bites sharply near his collarbone, no doubt trying to get a response out of him.

 

“Hmm…” Kouen hedges, thinking back. Nothing springs to mind, and he furrows his brow. He’s fairly sure he’d remember something like that. His shoulder feels tingly where Ja’far bit him. “…I can’t say I do.” Ja’far huffs.

 

“Really? The only promise I ever made you and you don’t remember it? Try to think _really_ hard. It was quite a long time ago.” Kouen can hear something like a smile in Ja’far’s voice. “Back when we first met.” Kouen’s confusion grows.

 

“…When we first met, I was in my office. Al Sarmen had ordered you to protect me and my siblings. You threw a knife at my head to kill a spider, but you didn’t make me a promise.” The peculiar tingling has intensified.

 

“You’re so cold, Kouen. Did you really forget our first meeting? It was earlier than that,” Ja’far says. Kouen can still hear the smile in his voice and wonders what he’s trying to get at.

 

“Earlier? I was in the room when you woke up from your,” Kouen pauses for only the briefest of moments, trying to remember the exact ruse they’d constructed, “head injury. But we didn’t speak that day.” He wants to see Ja’far’s face, to see his expression. And damn, what is _wrong_ with his shoulder?

 

_“Earlier,”_ Ja’far insists. Kouen wonders if they’d implanted him in Ja’far’s false memories so that he would adjust easier to life in the palace.

 

“…I’m afraid I really can’t recall,” he admits. He can’t function off a lie he’s not a part of.

 

_“Damn_ you’re a proud one. Did you really forget something like this so easily? Did it really mean so little to you?” Ja’far chuckles, and for the first time Kouen genuinely thinks there’s something _wrong._ Ja’far looks up at him for the first time, smiling, but his eyes are sharp, steelier than normal. “You should have listened closer,” he whispers, raising his left hand into Kouen’s field of vision.

 

There’s an empty syringe in it.

 

Kouen blanches and tries to move, but it’s like his mind has been entirely separated from his body. He understands now that Ja’far hadn’t bitten him, he’d _injected_ him. And based on his utter lack of physical control, it was a paralytic.

 

“I want you to think back. _Really_ hard,” Ja’far sneers. “Think of me. On the floor. Sobbing. In your dungeon. And just try to recall _exactly_ what I promised you.” Kouen can barely move at this point, but the memories are coming racing back and Ja’far must somehow see it in his face. “Ah. I see you _do_ remember after all.” Ja’far’s smile would be sweet if it weren’t so cold. “After you ripped my household vessel away from me, I swore that I would never forgive you for it. I swore I would destroy you for it. Burn everything you’ve ever made or loved from the ground up, and you along with it.”

 

“How do you…remember that,” Kouen is barely able to mumble. There’s still shock, but it’s quickly fading in the face of the realization that he is _fucked._ Unless this paralytic wears off, he is completely at Ja’far’s mercy. Ja’far grins, sitting up fully.

 

“Because I have a little secret,” he says, tossing the used syringe aside. He draws another from his hakama, uncapping it and pushing it into Kouen’s bicep before depressing the plunger. Once this one is empty as well he withdraws it, discarding it as well and not seeming to care where in the room it lands. He raises a hand to tap his head with a forefinger. “You see, Kouen, there’s _two of me_ in here.” He leans back. Kouen doesn’t understand at all, but Ja’far seems more than willing to elaborate.

 

“Your little memory warp would have worked perfectly on anyone else on this whole fucking planet. But me? No. Because I had an extra copy of every _fucking_ thing I’ve ever done up here. All I had to do was reintroduce the original memories to the other one. We were both…well, pissed the _fuck off._ After a bit of…light debate, we decided _not_ to kill you right off. We still had our promise to keep, after all.” Kouen is trying to move, but it’s truly beyond his capacity. He can’t even blink, and his eyes hurt with the dryness. But he _needs_ to get up, he _needs_ to do _something._

 

“You and that _whore_ Judar managed to get the copy of memories the nicer personality had. For that first day before I was able to show him the truth, he was yours. But only for those few hours was your little fucking _lie_ ever actually working. Everything else has just been a _game_. I’m feeling generous, so I’ll tell you exactly how I’ve won it, hmm? A little bit of story time, and then goodnight forever, your _imperial majesty.”_

 

“I started with that Al Sarmen bitch. It was really just _pathetic_ how they’ve had this country by the balls since your dynasty’s founding. I did you a _favor_ by helping you root them out. And at absolutely no cost to me, or Sindria,” his eyes go almost absurdly dreamy for a moment, and the expression somehow doesn’t fit comfortably with the viciousness lying just beneath, “or Sin…” His voice drops to a whisper, as if he’s talking to himself. “He’ll be so proud. Just so proud. I’ve done so well. Sin’s going to be so proud…” The dreaminess leaves as quickly as it had arrived, the underlying viciousness fully exposed again. Kouen finds it hard to believe that Ja’far had just been _this good of a liar_. How could he not have seen this coming? How could he have believed it for so long?

 

“Then, I killed your sisters. And it was _so easy._ All I had to do was introduce a vaporous poison to their perfume. I tailor made it to look like illness so that you wouldn’t suspect me. Every princess and the people closest to them breathed in carefully monitored doses of poison for weeks. Once the sores started _festering_ they started applying even more perfume to cover the stench.” Ja’far laughs. “It was fucking _hilarious_ , really. If they’d just _stopped_ using the perfume they would have had a _chance_ of recovering, but their _vanity_ killed them faster than I’d even anticipated! I gave Kougyoku the antidote, though. I need her for something else. Lucky fucking her, right?” Kouen is beginning to see where this is leading. And with dawning realization is coming dark, vengeful fury.

 

Ja’far scowls. “Things got a little off course when you wouldn’t fucking look at me after all the deaths. I needed you to _trust_ me. So I made myself into a nice little shoulder to cry on. I can’t tell you how _bitter_ it tasted, apologizing for killing all your little sisters. But hey. I was back in.”

 

“Kouha, I knew, was going to be a bit trickier. Arranging convenient accidents is one of the things I learned in my days as an assassin, of course. But as a measure of security I knew I had to be there as well, in case anything went wrong. But _you_ are a fucking suspicious man. And a realist. I knew you wouldn’t just _let it slide_ that the person with your youngest brother when he tragically died just _happened_ to be an assassin. So I fucked you. Or, more accurately, I made you fuck me. Remember that tea? Before you felt me up in the bath? I was lucky you weren’t interested in botany. Those ingredients I listed are basically nature’s top ten aphrodisiacs. I knew you didn’t want me. Not _really._ But I knew you were competitive and possessive and if you saw enough skin, with those plants in you, you’d be willing to fuck anything. I did tell you the truth about my scars, actually. Among all the other lies, that much was true because it had to be believable. The only one that I lied on was the one on the outside of my right leg. I was eleven years old when I got that scar. Sin didn’t fuck me, he’s too noble to screw a child. I did fuck someone else for his good, though I didn’t tell him at the time. Me saying his name…” Ja’far scowls. “It was a moment of weakness. I let myself call out for help just that _once_. But I followed through with you, repulsive as you fucking are to me. I drank the tea myself because I knew I’d need the…physiological help if I was getting fucked by _you._ And it _had_ to be believable. Because I needed you to see me as your lover before you saw me as an assassin. You’d never accuse your lover of killing your little brother.” Every fucking move had been orchestrated, Kouen realizes. Every word, every smile, even the panic attack had all been carefully staged to get them to trust this _snake._ And they’d fallen for it – _he’d_ fallen for it – hook, line, and sinker. He hates himself for it, but he hates Ja’far infinitely more. Ja’far pouts theatrically.

 

“Poor fucking Kouha.” The pout melts almost immediately into that vicious grin. “You should have heard him scream. Really, admirable lungs. When I reached the bottom of the cliff, I couldn’t believe he was still alive. _Solomon_ was he in pain. Crying, screaming, _begging._ And the _look on his face_ when I put my hands around his neck…” Ja’far chuckles and Kouen swears he can already feel his hands around _Ja’far’s_ neck and how satisfying it will be to feel it snap. If he could just _move…_ “There was never any chance of you saving him. I watched you tear yourself apart over that for _weeks_ , but really, you never could have gotten there in time. I snapped his neck with my bare hands and watched the light leave his eyes. There could never be any chance of him telling you exactly what I’d done.” Ja’far grins at him.

 

“Koumei is next, though in truth his death started much earlier than the others’. I observed that he had a severely addictive personality. So I got him hooked. On a slow-acting, euphoria-inducing, inescapably addictive poison. If he’d only smoked it that one time with me he would have died in about five years. But with how he’s been puffing like a damn chimney for the last few months he’s dying tonight. Or maybe tomorrow. But it’s only a matter of hours, at this point.” The hopelessness is trying to drown out his rage, but Kouen clings to his wrath like a lifeline. It seems to be the only thing Ja’far hasn’t taken from him. Ja’far draws a knife and twirls it absently.

 

“And with you and him gone, I will have single-handedly deconstructed your _entire_ line of succession. Tell me, Kouen, what do you think will happen after that?” A moment of silence hangs, and then Ja’far laughs. Kouen has never hated a sound more. “Oh right. I forgot you can’t _talk_. Well then, I’ll just tell you.” He grins at Kouen like a snake.

 

“Civil war.”

 

“You have no clear heir, excepting your sister. But as you so recently pointed out, women can’t take their male relatives’ titles. All of the feudal lords will _tear each other apart_ trying to marry Kougyoku. Violence, bloodshed, rape, death…doesn’t sound like the kind of place your sister is going to want to be. I’ll encourage her to leave the country with me, to flee to _someone she trusts._ Tell me, Kouen, where do you think she’ll go and who do you think she’ll marry with no big brother to tell her no?” Kouen feels horror rise to match the pulsing fury. Everything already had and would continue to fall right into Ja’far’s hands, exactly as he’d planned since the beginning. This…This _madman_ had been able to completely undermine his entire _empire_ in less than a _year._ Ja’far giggles.

 

“Of course, Sinbad doesn’t _need_ a wife. He has me. But we’ll keep her around, long enough for his hold on Kou to be believable and secure. And to pop out a legitimate heir or two.” Ja’far spits on Kouen’s face. “It fucking _sickens_ me that Sin’s heir will share blood with you. But there’s no helping it. And after Kougyoku has served her royal duty…well. I confess, Kouen, I am something of a jealous, possessive man myself.”

 

“They…were…kind…to…you…” Kouen barely manages to mumble. It doesn’t come out nearly as much of a roar as he’d wanted it to. Ja’far tips his head, smiling as sweetly as he had when Kouha complimented his cooking.

 

“Of course they were. You were as well. But you took _everything_ from me when you took away Sin. I repaid the favor. And I would do it all over again just to see you suffer through it one more time,” Ja’far sneers. “You might want to think twice before you try to use a man’s conscience against him. It may turn out he doesn’t have one.” Ja’far stands, turning away from Kouen and heading towards the desk against the back wall.

 

“Time to close the charade. That poison I put in you will kill you shortly. It’s a safety net, in case the paralytic wears off sooner than I’d thought. But you won’t be dying of the poison. You will suffer _more_ for tearing the fucking meaning of my life away from me. You’re going to burn.” Ja’far reenters his field of vision, carrying a candle. “A terrible misfortune, really. You fell asleep reading in bed, and the candle set your bedding on fire. You couldn’t make it out of the palace alive before it collapsed on you. Don’t worry, though. Kougyoku will get to live. For another few years.” Ja’far isn’t smiling anymore, and his eyes are colder than ice. “You should be honored. The palace your ancestors built will become your pyre. A real emperor’s funeral for you.”

 

“Sinbad is my savior, my _god._ So when he said “bring me Kou”, I said “and what else?” I didn’t expect you to _steal_ my household vessel when I let myself be captured by the Al Sarmen agents I knew operated out of here. But I’ve been so good, Sin will undoubtedly give me a new one.” Ja’far narrows his eyes, smiling at Kouen in glee. He’s moving closer, the flame of the candle he’s holding prepared to blaze into an inferno on the rice paper and wood.

 

“You know, Judar was right. I really _am_ a whore. I’d fuck anything and anyone if Sin asked it of me. But you, you paid for me. The cost was your empire, your dynasty, your family, and your life. So tell me, Kouen,” Ja’far lowers the candle, setting the edge of the futon and comforter ablaze and stepping back to just _watch_.

 

“Was I worth the price?”

**Author's Note:**

> The song Ja'far sang is To Travels & Trunks by Hey Marseilles with just a few minor lyrics edits to make them fit the Magi universe.
> 
> Songs that inspired me/remind me of this story:  
> The Devil Within by Digital Daggers  
> Le Bien Qui Fait Mal by Mozart L'Opera Rock  
> Thnks Fr Th Mmrs by Fall Out Boy  
> The Mighty Fall by Fall Out Boy  
> Mz. Hyde by Halestorm  
> Until It Hurts by Fransisca Hall  
> Eh? Aa, Sou by Ashestoashesjc (it's a cover, so it's only on youtube)  
> Bonfires by Blue Foundation


End file.
